


Slasher | Horror Movies/Reader

by Cheshagirl



Category: Friday the 13th, Friday the Thirteenth - Fandom, Halloween Movies - All Media Types, Horror Movies - Fandom, Slasher (TV), Slashers - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Gore, In most of these I guess, Multi, Other, Reader is asexual, Violence, also reader just generally rocks bc I like self inserts, badassery, definitely crossovers, maybe some crossovers, there will probably be mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshagirl/pseuds/Cheshagirl
Summary: Several little fics about the reader agreeing to stupid things and running into some killers. It's ok, they seem to like youThere will probably be crossover stuff in the future, and a couple small series within this





	1. Jason Voorhees/Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Were they really your friends? Who cares you're being held by jason

You'd heard the legend of Jason Voorhees. How he drowned as a child from irresponsible counselors who had decided fucking each other was better than taking care of the campers. And how he killed anyone who came back to Crystal Lake, usually horny teenagers. So you didn't quite understand why your friends wanted to have sex in the old cabins, or why they'd even think about doing it here of all places. Then again, you'd never understood the appeal of sex anyways. You'd found yourself a cabin, separate from the others and far enough away you couldn't hear the sounds of their indecent actions, especially if you put in your earbuds and gazed out into the sunset reflected on the lake. This place was pretty, albeit creepy, but you knew it was partially due to the stories revolving around this area. 

Your dazed state, music, and position away from the others was probably why you never heard their screams, or why you never heard the cat start then abruptly stop. _Or_ why you never heard the door swing open and footsteps stop only inches behind you. The shadow that suddenly loomed around you was what prompted you to slowly remove your earbuds, beginning to warn whoever was behind you, “If this is some kind of stupid prank, or you're trying to get me to join in your _fun_ , I'm not interested.”

You turn just as slowly, dread crawling up you as your eyes travel along a bloodied machete, to a tattered coat, up to a dirty hockey mask. You had for a second, unsure whether you're hallucinating or not. Your mind wonders how much glass you'd be picking out if you jumped through the window. 

“He-hello.” You greet dumbly. 

You know this is probably the last few minutes you'll spend on earth so you silently start thanking whoever watched over you for everything you'd been given. The man –was he a man?– stared down at you unblinkingly. You stare at the machete clenched in his gray hand and say, “So… so I'm going to die, right? Before I do I want you to know I never had sex and I think the counselors who were supposed to watch over you were irresponsible and stupid.”

It's a last ditch effort to, hopefully, make your death as painless as possible or maybe, _maybe_ , gain the monsters mercy. Monster fit him better you decide. Jason tilts his head, almost like he's curious and reaches with his empty hand toward you. You flinch away, only to realize he's touching your earbuds, so gingerly you'd think he had never seen them before. Oh. Right. 

You move, slowly as to not startle him, and lift your earbuds toward him, moving to stand in your chair which was the only way to reach the mountain of a man. 

“Would you, uh, like to listen?” You inquire. 

When he doesn't move or indicate anything to seem like he doesn't, you slowly reach forward and place them in his ears, cautiously situating them and then choosing your favorite song, making sure the volume is lowered. The song starts and you watch him carefully, waiting for a reaction. Your brain screams, no, _shrieks_ , at you. _Why aren't you running? What the hell are you doing?_

You ignore these thoughts, why? You don't know, but humans do stupid things all the time so you figure you might as well do something stupid too. You're still scowering the brown eyes beneath hockey mask for an emotion when you hear it. A little _tap, tap, tap_. Your eyes look down to find Jason’s left foot moving slowly, probably a little offbeat, but tapping nonetheless. A smile crawls it's way across your face. You look back at his face and can't help but start giggling. God you were really stupid. 

“You're actually kind of really adorable.” You mutter, biting your lip to try and contain your sudden elatedness from this revelation. 

He had just killed you friends and you we're _giggling at him_. Calling him _adorable_. Jason truly did not understand people. But he liked you. He reaches forward, large hands grabbing your hips, careful to keep the machete from cutting you. You squeal as your lifted and placed over his shoulder. You try to situate yourself so the earbuds aren't pulled out. 

_That is not what you should be worrying about._ You scold yourself. 

You begin to quietly panic as your carried out of the cabin, past several dead bodies, a few unrecognizable, and into the forest. 

“Listen, I'm sorry I called you adorable but that's no reason to kill someone, right?” You squeal, swallowing nervously. 

Jason is silent as he continues deeper in. You decide silence is probably better and stay that way until you hear a door open and you're being set down in a small shack. Candles are lit around a small table and you hold back a scream when you see the decaying head of a woman between the candles. A large hand presses into your back and you whip around, shaking. Jason tugs at the earbuds and you realize they'd been yanked out. You fumble to grab them and reach up in tiptoes to place them back in his ear, finding another song. Jason starts moving and you lurch to stay in step with him, holding your phone up to not tug them out again until he sits on a small cot that groans under his weight. You stand awkwardly, still shaking as you realize you're probably only alive because of your sweet taste in music. 

You squeak when you're pulled down into his lap, meeting the hard wall of his chest. Once again, you find yourself confused as to why you were sitting hear in a killers lap instead of running, but you try to ignore it. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, was it? Against your brains wishes you shift to snuggle in deeper against Jason, finding yourself oddly calm as you felt the ridr and fall of his chest as he breathed. Did he need to breathe? Or was that just a muscle memory he couldn't shake? It didn't matter because you were slipping into a comfortable sleep in his large arms, barely registering his shift in position as darkness filled your head. 

You were still alive, and comfortable. So who were you to look a gift horse in its mouth?


	2. Michael Myers | Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is used to finding people, usually teens, in his house on Halloween. He's used to killing them silently, he's used to some screaming. 
> 
> He's not used to being held at knife point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will people learn to stay away from the Myers house?
> 
> Reader is a fucking badass. Also ignore that little innuendo I accidentally made

Myers residence, sometime past midnight. Dozens of teenagers lay dormant around the house, a few wandering around looking for a late night snack, or maybe their clothing that had been strewn about during their night of fun. In a room, more specifically Michael’s old room, lay one body. Curled up in the large bed under thick, oddly clean sheets. The guest of the bed had retired from the party early, deciding their friends were okay in the crowd. Yesterday had been the Halloween party and what better place to hold it than at the old Myers house? It had been a night of costumes, dancing, loud music, drinking, and maybe some sex here or there. You, the guest, hadn't been too keen on coming to the party, always the wary type especially when legends revolved around a serial killer. The only reason you'd come was because you wanted to make sure your friends didn't make any rash decisions. 

Now here you lay, oblivious to the world in your sleep, oblivious to the man downstairs, observing the house. He'd come home to find trespassers everywhere which meant he could take his time as long as he was careful and didn't make too much noise. Michael Myers was patient, he could get through this without alerting anyone. One by one the people downstairs were silenced and dragged toward the basement door, leaving trails of blood that would have to be cleaned up later. Eventually he came upstairs, unaware that his bedroom was occupied, and across the hall happened to be a girl on her phone. When he opened the door the girl, sober enough to recognize danger, immediately screamed. For Michael, he was lucky the doors were shut down the halls and the people left were few and out cold. For Michael he was unlucky that the one person left that was sober and easy to wake was across the hall and very protective of their friends. 

You were quick to scramble for your bag, grab the switchblade you'd packed and throw open the door. Michael whipped around, surprised to find someone in his bed and someone up. You were small, to Michael most people were, and yet you stood there with unwavering determination and a knife in your hand. 

“You leave them alone,” You hiss, sleep still evident in your voice. “You don't touch them.”

It took Michael several moments to actually react to what you'd said. He stood there, frozen and shocked until he turned fully to point his own knife at you. He saw your eyes drift to his knife, larger and more deadly, then return to his mask with a set jaw and knit eyebrows. He saw your jaw tick and you spoke again, “They leave with me, we don't say a word, and you continue on with the other people.”

Were you… making a deal with him? Michael’s jaw dropped. Never, never had anyone had the guts to stare him down at knife point and make a deal. Michael turns his head to look at the girl, who'd gotten up and gotten her purse. She stood there shaking, clutching it to her chest and crying. Why would you risk your skin for someone like her?

“Please.”

Michael snaps his attention back to you. Now you were begging? He kind of liked this. He taps his pointer finger on the handle of his knife in thought, debating whether to agree or simply kill them both. 

He decides. With a jerk of his knife toward the stairs, you get the message. 

He's never seen someone move so fast. You had your friend, your bag, and your phone with you within a minute. Before he could move again the two of you were racing down the stairs. He heard the door slam and he walks to the window in his room, opening it to lean out. He sees you holding your friend's hand as you haul ass down the street, not looking back once. He hums as he returns to the hall, slipping into another room and making quick work of the people in there. Michael wonders where you live, if he could find you or if you'd move away to live a full life? You were interesting, brave, stupid. Michael was interested in meeting you again, to see how you'd fight back, what you'd say. 

You hoped to never go to another stupid party ever again.


	3. Michael Myers | Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything changed after meeting Michael, you should've left. Yet here you were, alone at night. The perfect opportunity for him to find you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling motivated and inspired so I ended up writing this last night during the Grammys 
> 
> I rewrote this so Michael is in character.. kind of

You hate parties. You hate this town. You hate Michael Myers. After the Halloween party you should've left, packed your bags and gone. But, you were determined to finish school. Your friend was smart, she left. You had worked so hard to avoid that house, that street. It's like he was actively trying to search you out, and he probably was. Everywhere you went you felt like someone was watching you. The missing kids were the talk of the town and each time it was brought up you remembered him. Remembered forcing yourself not to shake as you looked up at the giant killer. You remembered feeling an odd thrill course through you as he stared you down, as he tapped his knife and finally granted you mercy. Your whole schedule had changed to avoid anything that may lead to a confrontation. Not walking alone, finding alternate routes, changing classes and job hours to skip late night traveling. 

Yet here you were, forced to work an extra shift to cover for someone. Forced to clutch your bags close and use your phone's flashlight to illuminate the darkness around you. You're cold and frightened, the winter air nipping at you through your clothes and boots crunching in the snow. You silently wish you'd brought a warmer jacket. You were several blocks from your apartment building and no one else wandered the streets, the cars driving by were few and far between. You stopped, taking a moment to catch your breath and look up to the sky, watching you breath appear in a cloud then disappear. Then there was a footstep. You whipped around and tugged out your pocket knife in the same motion. 

Thoughts raced through your mind a mile a minute. Was it him? Was it someone coming to mug you? We're you just going crazy? 

There's a deep, menacing growl. You shine your phone in its direction and hold back a scream. Michael Myers stands there, wielding a knife with a malicious gleam in his eyes. 

Your fear briefly manifests into anger as you realize what's happening and you snap, “Excuse me?”

Michael steps forward and you do too. He stops at this and you shout, “I have done nothing but avoid your house, your street, change my schedule, just to stay away from you. I have lived in constant fear and paranoia since I saved my, our, fucking asses and you think it's just a coincidence that I somehow ran into you on route to my home?”

Michael coughs awkwardly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the anger in your voice. You were staying at a steady, deadly tone and pointing your knife at him to emphasize your point. Never had he faced someone like this, never had someone yell at or accuse him. You weren't wrong, it wasn't a coincidence but he wasn't going to tell you that. 

“I have never seen you here before. You're just stalking me!” You hiss, seething in anger. “I want to finish school! I want to leave and live a normal life without a fucking serial killer hanging around!”

You suddenly lunge forward and grab the collar of his jumpsuit, yanking him down to your level. Anger and exhaustion led to this sudden courage. It didn't stop him from seeing the tears in the corner of your eyes and something twists in him at the sight. He'd been stalking you since the Halloween party. It took a while but he'd managed to figure out your schedule, where you worked, which apartment you lived in. It took even longer for him to actually appear before you. It was an accident, actually. For some reason he just couldn't show himself to you and it got worse everytime he saw you, saw you laugh, or smile. Michael just couldn't figure out the feeling, and now, standing here with your face in his, it only got stronger. 

“Leave me alone!” You sob, shaking him. “Please!”

You turn, making to bolt away from him, when his hand grips your wrist. You cry as you're yanked back, beginning to kick and scream. An arm wraps around your waist and a hand slaps over your mouth. Tears fall down your face as you're held captive against the killers chest. He snarls, a clear indication to shut up if you want to stay alive. You barely register that he'd dropped the knife in the process of picking you up. 

Eventually you stop screaming but keep crying, unable to stop the panic and shaking. You hear him sigh and then move, walking down the sidewalk. You realize it's in the direction of your apartment and try to twist your head to look up at him. Was he going to bring you there and kill you? Dump your body off at the doorsteps? Why did he drop the knife? The walk is quiet save for your shaky sobs and his breathing. It's a long enough trek that by the time you reach your apartment building you'd gone limp in his arms and accepted your fate. You're not surprised when he manages to get all the way to your place with no one seeing or hearing him. In front of your door he slowly sets you down, keeping a tight grip on you when he growls a warning and jerks his head in the direction of your bag, where your keys are. You get the message and do as he says, taking out your keys. You're ignoring any instinct saying scream. You're shaking as he follows you in and you lock the door. At least you'll die somewhere familiar and comfortable. 

“Okay…” You breathe, watching Michael as he walks around your apartment, picking up a picture of you and your friend from the coffee table. 

He looks at it for a couple seconds then turns to you with a questioning look. You stare at him for a moment to decipher what he wants and stammer out, “Do you want to know why I saved her?”

He nods slowly and turns to face you. 

“I–well,” You have to pause, caught off guard and not really sure how to answer. “I grew up with her, I love her.”

You pick at your nails, looking down as you continue, “She can be kind of obnoxious and loud, and stupid, but… I promised her I'd come to look after her and I keep my promises. Including ours.”

You spit out the words and glare at him, watching as he rubs a thumb across the picture then set it down. You hear him hum, then he seems to just stand there. 

You scowl and snarl out, “What is this?”

He looks at you. 

“Why are you here?”

He straightens up. 

“Why haven't you killed me?”

He approaches you. 

“Why won't you leave me alone?”

He lifts his mask. It's a handsome, tired face. It reveals untold stories and trauma. It's the face of the killer whose eyes makes you melt. The face of a killer that thrills and frightens you. His hand reaches up to touch your face. He barely feels you, fingers just ghosting over your skin in a tender caress. Your teeth and fists clench as he leans down to watch you as his thumb rubs softly under your eye and across your cheek. His eyes seem to plead for something but you don't know what. 

You flinch when he reaches and holds your face between his hands. You squeeze your eyes shut when he kisses you. You try to ignore your pounding heart and the way his lips are so soft and warm. He stops when you don't reciprocate. With a growl he pushes away and runs a hand through his hair, knocking his pushed up mask off. He storms past you and you hear him unlocking the door. You flinch again when it's slammed shut. Finally, you fall to your knees and clutch your sides, crying again harder than before.


	4. Michael Myers | Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were finally, finally moving on, you'd gotten out of that godforesaken town but, by some sick twist of fate, you found yourself back there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok ok, Michael is like really out of character I'm sorry. The reader just does not give a fuck anymore

Lucky for you school ended several months after meeting Michael again. You moved as soon as possible, moving several cities away and starting your life as a journalist. Through the years you kept the mask he left at your apartment, left it tucked away in a box and only looked at it when you felt bad. It made you feel strong, made you remember you stood against a killer, twice, and survived. You and your friend had lost touch and you figured the less of that place around you the better. But it couldn't last. You needed something to write about and, by some stupid choice of fate, someone mentioned legends, ghosts, as a topic and you blurted out your old hometown with Michael Myers. “Perfect!” Your boss exclaimed. 

And now you're here, in your car, in front of the Myers house. Life always came around to bite you in the ass. You noticed a car already parked there and sigh, knowing some unprepared teens are probably fooling around. It takes five minutes for you to get out of the car, and five minutes to enter the house. Images flash behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut, clenching your flashlight and knife. The same knife you used all those years ago. You hear screaming and two pairs of feet running down the stairs. Two teens, a boy and a girl, freeze when they see you. 

“Get out, don't call the police. They never catch him.” You order. “And don't ever come back or say a word.”

They waste no time in bolting past you. You know he's not far behind so you stand there, calming yourself for the third time in your life that you'll come face to face with a killer. He makes a sound from the bottom of the stairs and you see the light bounce off of his knife. 

“Michael.” You hiss, your body begins to shake again. 

He rounds the corner to look at you. Does he recognize you? Will he kill you this time? His knife drops. So, no? 

You hear him seemingly choke. 

“Yeah, it's me.” You shuffle your over the shoulder bag around so you can put away your knife and pull out a notepad and pen. “So I have some questions.”

The flashlight is tucked under an arm and you look up. Michaels hands are clenching like he doesn't know what to do with them. He's breathing heavy, like chasing those teens had tired him out but you know that's not the case. He seems to glare at you. 

“I have questions, will you answer them?” You take a deep breath.

You're about to start asking, even though part of you knows it's futile, when he lunges and rips the pen and pad from you. You shout as you're lifted and slammed up against a wall, flashlight clattering to the ground. His breathing is heavy through the new mask he has. His eyes look angry, betrayed even. You tell yourself you don't care. 

He stares and stares and stares, before letting out a roar and throwing you to the ground. You know this is him trying to quell the feelings he has for you, feelings he so plainly laid out in his kiss to you from back in the apartment. You try and ignore the way your heart flutters at this. 

“I have your old mask.” You state, ignoring his angry and betrayed face. 

He lets out a cry and clenches his fist, pressing them to his temples and shaking his head violently. He turns and bashes his head to the wall. 

“Stop. Michael you can't.” You interrupt, deciding it was time to put these feelings to rest. “You can't do that to yourself! You know we would never work anyways!”

Wouldn't it? You both obviously feel something towards each other, you just chose to deny it. Michael startles you with a wail and he crushes you against his chest as he buries his face into your neck. You can tell he's crying and you sag against him, chin resting on his shoulder. This was right, wasn't it? Why did it feel so wrong then?

He's sobbing and clutching you like a lifeline and you sigh. 

“I'm trying to help, I'm sorry.”

Suddenly you're being moved. You're thrown on the couch and he's above you, ripping off his mask and slamming his lips to yours. This time you're complacent, and offer little resistance to him. He's moving insistently, trying to coax a reaction from you. Michael feels like he may break if you stay still and frozen like the last time. The last time he'd stormed out and ran home, hacking away at the bodies, bludgeoning them as he cried. When your lips move back he stops. He draws back a sliver, breath ghosting across yours. His heart is hammering. 

“I think you love me, Michael.” You murmur, reaching up to run your fingers over his cheek in feather soft touched. “And I love you but… I don't think it'd work.”

His gut clenches and he presses his face into your chest. It's silent for what seem likes eternity until he reaches to hold your hand in his. 

You laugh softly and sigh, “You’re not going to change Michael. I have a job somewhere else.”

He decides to try a different tactic. His lips start kissing at your expose collar bone, he hums and groans against you, feeling your smooth skin glide across his lips. 

You let out sighs as he kisses up your neck, feeling your pulse race beneath him as he moves upward. Your other hand runs itself through his surprisingly soft hair. 

“Michael you can't…” 

He snarls and nips at your bottom lip to interrupt you. 

Despite yourself, you laugh. 

“Okay.” You decide. “You're going to come with me, and I'm going to keep you on lockdown until you get your little hobby under control.”

His shout of relief is paired with a long kiss, pressing himself as close as he can to you, like he doesn't want the moment to end. Afterward you try to pack his stuff, although it's very little, but he keeps touching you, kissing you. You think he may be having a hard time believing it's real so you let it happen until you have to pull him in the car. You run your thumb over his lips as he leans over the divider to kiss you. He whines at the obstacle and you giggle, “I have to drive, keep your hands to yourself.”

As he sits back and pouts, and you make your way out of the town you think maybe this isn't so bad. Maybe the party wasn't such a horrible thing. Maybe it was okay to have a piece of this town with you.


End file.
